


Saturday Morning

by siriusissues



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gen, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 13:36:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11186217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/siriusissues/pseuds/siriusissues
Summary: Sirius is loud, but his apartment is unusually quiet.





	1. Morning

**Author's Note:**

> i have no fucking idea what this is lmao i wanna go to sleep

They hadn’t lived together long, maybe just six months. Well, Sirius had lived there since they graduated 7th grade and no longer could call Hogwarts _home_. but James hadn’t. He remembered knocking on the door, soaking wet in the middle of the night, with tears in his eyes. He cried easily, James Potter, but Sirius had always felt things more deeply. The older man felt with his heart and soul, he felt sincerely, he felt it all. But he rarely cried. He was just sad. An empty kind of sadness that left him with no tears, only feelings. James did cry, that night. The tears were silent, his voice shaking when he spoke, “I’m sorry.”

He hadn’t seen Sirius in a while then, not properly. School was over, had been for some years, and they were twenty-one, but they were also in the middle of a war and it felt like they had lived their lives already. But that was six months ago and both of them had turned twenty-two by now.

“I’m so sorry, Sirius,” James had whispered into the empty space between them.

“Just… stay for some time, if you need to. If you want to,” Sirius had told him, so he did.

The apartment was a mess, which was no surprise considering who lived in it. It had two bedrooms, a kitchen, some sort of living room and a bathroom. It was too small, but it was home, and they made it work, even with a toddler around. James and Harry didn’t spend much time in the apartment though, trying not to invade too much of Sirius’ space, which was ridiculous because Sirius and James had spent seven years sharing _everything_ with each other, even beds.

But today, when James awoke to his son screaming at the top of his lungs with tears and snot smeared all over his face, he found the small apartment unusually quiet. He cradled Harry in his arms, desperately trying to mask the grief written all over his face as he hummed quietly on a lullaby his own mother used to sing to him every night when he was little. He wished with everything he had that Lily would miraculously return from the dead with her bright green eyes that used to sparkle with hope and strength and her smile that he swore he would fight for until his last breath. But she never did, and James were left staring into their baby’s eyes every time and choking back a sob because he was so much like his mother. The mother he would never get to know. It hurt more than anything else ever had, ever would.

Once Harry had calmed down and fallen back to sleep, James put him back in his little crib to peacefully return to his dreams. But James himself found it too difficult to go back to sleep, so he got dressed and left the room, leaving the door ajar. Like before, the apartment was still quiet, and although traces of Sirius were _everywhere_ , the man himself was nowhere to be seen. James found it odd, because almost every morning since he had moved in he had greeted Sirius on the sofa and every time he had simply grunted in response, the purple circles under his eyes turning noticeably darker.

But there was no Sirius on the sofa and the TV was turned off, not showing some sappy romantic comedy like it did every morning at seven. Sirius was everywhere, his stuff lying scattered around the place in a mess that was so typically Sirius Black; a pattern James knew better than the back of his hand after spending days and nights for years with him. But it was quiet, and Sirius Black was never quiet. There was always some kind of loudness about him, his presence screamed and everyone in the same room as him just knew he was there the moment he stepped through the door. Sirius Black was loud. Loud music, loud motorcycles, loud voice. Everything about him was loud. But the apartment was quiet, more quiet than it had ever been during James’ rather long visit. It gave him chills, like something wasn’t right, and he knew he was acting foolish, but with Sirius silence never meant something good.

He knocked carefully on Sirius’ bedroom door, but in vain. He was once again met with silence. A coldness making the hairs on James’ arms stand up and the quick beat of his heart hastily increase. He knocked again, then a third time, but the results were all the same. He was almost about to call out to the other man when he noticed a note on the floor by his feet. He picked it up and brushed his fingertips over the light handwriting that he could recognize as Sirius’ anywhere.

It was the same as it always had been, cursive but with some attitude, because it was Sirius, and he did everything with a carefree smirk and a shrug of his shoulder. But one thing had changed, and although the writing was beautiful in an easy way, it was wobbly, written with an unsteady hand. Sirius had always had steady hands, James had noticed this the first time the older man had given him a haircut, back when neither had been men, just merely boys. He had also noticed this when they had gotten ready for a party, and Sirius had applied his kohl eyeliner like it was nothing, and it was messy, but the black lines had been perfect, suiting him like always.

He studied the handwriting for another moment, taking in the black ink written with a pen and not a quill. _Beautiful_ , he thought. _Like the man himself_. James had this crazy idea that Sirius’ handwriting very much reflected his eyes. He never understood why, but the first time he had seen it, back when they were eleven years old and just had met, he saw Sirius’ grey orbs in the ink on the parchment. They had always held some kind of hardness, because Sirius Black was a hard man, and only until recently James had also thought he was unbreakable. He wasn’t weak, no, but no one is unbreakable. James had learned this the hard way.

As the years went by at Hogwarts and more parchments were written, James noticed how Sirius’ handwriting slowly turned considerably sader. He wasn’t sure how, because he never thought it to be possible. But he also noticed how his best friend’s eyes turned greyer, and he never thought that was possible either, but soon realized it just wasn’t probable. Not in James’ world at least. Sirius’ eyes turned more grey and sader for each day, but never dull. Sirius Black was never dull; not his eyes, not his soul. So as his eyes got filled with sorrow, so did the words he wrote, and James pretended not to know, because he was never supposed to read them in the first place. Shaking his head slowly, he drifted back to the present and once again noticed the note in his hand.

_Went out for the day, will be back later._

_Tell Harry good morning from me._

_Sirius_

James folded the note and stuffed it into one of the front pockets of his washed out jeans. It did nothing to help him with the unbearing silence still filling the apartment. He moved as if on command, throwing open the window in the kitchen and letting the spring air fill his lungs and the cramped living space the three of them shared.

The young man found a pile of records piled on top of each other by the table in front of the sofa. It wasn’t exactly unusual, piles like that could be found in pretty much every room. But that one caught James’ eye, and without a second thought he went through it, desperate to replace the gnawing silence with something _Sirius_.

At the bottom of the pile he found an old record he knew by heart. The cover used to be white, now faded into a greyish shade, and across it was a huge banana with the text “Peel slowly and see.” It was the very first record Sirius had owned, given to him by James himself, who had gotten it from Lily Evans on a very special occasion, when they were thirteen and Sirius had told him that there was nothing he wanted more than to listen to Lou Reed’s voice for the rest of his life.

The record had been well played back then, and James swore that they played it almost daily during their time at Hogwarts. Sirius may have been deeply committed to punk rock, and he prefered The Sex Pistols and The Stooges, and later on Siouxsie and the Banshees and Joy Division, to anything else. But when he and James were alone in their dorm, and Moony and Wormtail were god knows where, they played The Velvet Underground and Nico for hours and sometimes Sirius would even sing along, and James would smile but never point it out, because he knew Sirius despised singing, so when he actually did sing, he did it with all his heart. Singing was the only thing Sirius did quietly.

James brushed his fingers over the old record and a wave of nostalgia washed over him. He couldn’t put an exact date when this album had been played most recently, but he somehow knew that Sirius hadn’t played it since they graduated. The cover didn’t read “The Velvet Underground and Nico” even though it was the name of the record, but James knew, and he would always know, what album it was. It was _their_ album.

He put it on without hesitation and it almost felt as if he was sixteen again, sitting against the headboard of his bed with Sirius leaning his head against James’ shoulder, humming along well known words that disappeared into the crook of James’ neck along with every breath he took. He closed his eyes and listened to the first song like he hadn’t for years. It was Sirius’ favorite.

Time went by and the record was set on repeat. Harry was still sleeping soundly in his crib and James had decided to make an attempt at cleaning the apartment. He threw away the trash; empty pizza boxes and half drunk cans. He collected the dirty dishes and cleaned them easily with a swipe of his wand. He gathered all the dirty laundry and with another swipe of his wand folded it in neat piles, leaving it outside Sirius’ bedroom by the door.

At three Remus came by. James saw him more often than he saw Sirius. Or at least he spent more time with him. Every Saturday Remus would pick Harry up and take him for a walk, or feed the ducks at the local park, or buy new toys as if Harry didn’t have enough already. It warmed James’ heart, seeing his precious son giggling and smiling, always so excited about spending time with his uncle. He bid them goodbye and the door closed with a click behind them.

The record came to a stop, and before it could start over once more, James removed it from the vinyl player and put it back in its case. He loved it, he really did, it was probably his favorite album ever made. But the longer he played it, the more he started to remember, and it wasn’t like he wanted to forget, but most of the time nowadays it hurt to remember. Memories were pure, they were beautiful and dear, but they made James feel, and he hadn’t felt anything else than grief in a long time. It was almost like every other emotion was unknown, like he had never felt them at all. He tried not to think so much about how estranged he had become from his own life, from himself.

He put the record back in the pile on the coffee table where he had found it. The small table did not have a single empty spot, the surface filled with items all connected to Sirius somehow. Vinyls, tea mugs, lavender scented candles, half smoked Marlboro packets, a vase with dead red roses that should’ve been thrown out ages ago, motorcycle magazines, a notebook, a photo of a black dog, a moon chart kept from when they needed to keep track on Moony’s cycle (they still do), some guitar picks in a dusty bowl, a hairbrush, and a sea shell chest James did not dare open.

The silence once again filled the space of their apartment. Birds could be heard through the still open window, but James wanted the sound of them to be drowned out. He didn’t feel like listening to the birds sing, even though it was beautiful, the melody of spring. He needed something loud, something offending, something that could start riots, or even revolutions. He searched through pile after pile, but it took him a while to find the punk records that Sirius held closest to his heart.

He began with The Heartbreakers, cliché but Thunder’s voice and guitar playing was almost as magical as the whole wizarding world. Or at least Sirius had shouted those exact words once at the top of his lungs so it would be heard over the loud music, when he had stormed into their dorm with the brand new record, so full of excitement and energy and life. He was seventeen then.

James moved around the tiny living room, still picking up random things from the floor and putting them on whichever shelf he felt they belonged on. He had no idea what time it was, but neither did he care, he had enough worries and time was not one of them. By the sofa, partly underneath it, he found Sirius’ infamous jacket. James swore that Sirius Black’s worn out leather jacket was more well known locally than the man himself. They always joked about it, he, Moony, and Wormtail constantly teasing Sirius for rarely taking it off. The oldest of the group wore the jacket like it was part of him, but thinking back James could understand why.

After running away, Sirius did not own a lot of possessions. He had showed up at James’ house with little to almost nothing, and tear streams running down his puffy face. Sirius rarely cried, he despised it more than he despised singing. It was never about being emotionless, nor tough, he was simply taught not to cry. James guessed the older man’s parents played a huge part in that.

They had been young, and wherever they went destruction was always around the corner. The world had been unsafe then, the smell of war polluting the air. But although the war had been short lived, like many of their beloved friends, they couldn’t find themselves celebrating their victory. James couldn’t see it as a victory. What was so victorious about the many lost lives of innocent people? What was so victorious about traumas he didn’t know how to handle? Why would he celebrate when he had only lost? He had lost his wife, the mother of his only child. He had lost almost everything. He had already lost Sirius.

The jacket felt heavy in his hands. Collar popped and the rest of it still covered in pins of different types; some of them of bands, and others of political slogans and symbols. One of them were a round pin coloured in six different colours. James knew it was the rainbow flag, having seen it around Sirius’ belongings multiply times.

There was no doubt the older man felt deep pride in who he was. It had taken him years, and James was sure that he still wasn’t one hundred percent sure. But he knew who he loved, what he loved, and how to love. That was way more than James knew about himself. Pride was important to Sirius, he was after all raised in the Black household. But he and his biological family had different opinions on what kind of pride that was the most important, and he did not share his parents nor his little brother’s views and beliefs on blood purity. He never had, never would.

He was proud, James knew he was. Proud to be himself, proud to love other men no matter what other people thought. James wished he was a bit more like Sirius in that area, because more often than he would admit whilst sober, he cared what people said about him behind his back. Sirius didn’t care, and maybe that’s why he took the concept and meaning of Punk Rock to a higher level than James could reach.

He brushed his thumb over the rainbow pin and felt the ghost of a smile playing on his lips. This was the Sirius he knew by heart. The jacket, _his jacket_ , was the little boy James had first met on the Hogwarts Express, was the boy who grew up and became a teen, then an adult, the very person James had loved more deeply than he had loved everybody else combined. He knew this person by heart, knew his wounded spirit and broken soul, better than he knew himself. The worn out leather jacket was Sirius Black like James knew him. The jacket was tears and blood. It was like coming home again, he realized. Sirius was home.

Letting the old material brush the tips of his fingers one last time, he put it down on the sofa where it had most likely been in the first place. Between two songs he heard a soft thud, like a very small object had fallen to the floor. He turned around again to check, and he was without a doubt right, because he found himself, for the second time that day, staring at something really small lying right by his bare feet.

It was like everything came to a sudden halt, like the world stopped spinning, then it began to spin again, but this time much faster than it ever had, and James sank to his knees in front of the sofa, unable to remove his eyes from the object. After a while he stretched out a trembling hand, and picked up the small ziplock bag between his thumb and forefinger.

It was tiny, easily fitting in the palm of James’ hand. But no matter its size he knew the content was worth a lot of money. An extremely high sum of money. Money he knew Sirius did not have. 

He lifted it up and held it right before his eyes, inspecting it carefully. He felt cold, like he needed to shut the window in the kitchen even though it was an unusually hot day for only being spring. He also felt sick, a nauseous kind of sickness bubbling at the pit of his belly. He knew what it was, knew from the moment he saw the tiny little plastic bag. James knew that this was something he wasn’t supposed to see, it was off limit, it was invading Sirius’ privacy just like he had avoided doing for so long.

The shock soon turned into anger, because he did not want an innocent child running around a household involving these kind of things. He was mad at Sirius for letting his _godson_ step into this very apartment. He was mad at himself for not realizing sooner. It was almost obvious, suddenly explaining Sirius’ strange behaviour and why his eyes always seemed to be so full of energy despite the purple bags framing them. They also seemed less sad, although they still held the same sadness they had been keeping for years now. It explained all the spoons lying around for no reason, and all the cords.

James squeezed the tiny bag in his hand before letting it fall to the floor again. The snow white powder just lying there almost mockingly, taunting him. Before he could stop himself he grabbed the jacket again and went through every pocket he could find, hands still trembling. He had long since lost the little control he had left.

Minutes ticked away, but James didn’t keep track. The record had reached its end a long time ago, and the young man had somehow managed to get off the floor to take a seat on the extremely outdated sofa. He hadn’t found much else, only another tiny ziplock bag containing some kind of pills James couldn’t bother to identify. He sat there, feeling completely numb, and the silence didn’t bother him anymore.

Harry was still with Remus, and they wouldn’t return until Sunday morning, like always. So when James heard keys rustling and the front door being opened, James knew who it was, but he found himself unable to react. He could only sit there, elbow leaning against the armrest, with his cheek against his palm. He could hear Sirius shuffling around, putting away things in the kitchen before making his was into the living room to turn on the TV. James knew exactly when Sirius spotted him on the sofa.

“Hi,” the older man said. His voice was hoarse, but still soft, and James was so furious with him. 

“Sirius,” he began and he looked up, his gaze locking with the other man’s briefly before he had to look away from his dilated pupils. “I’m moving out. Tomorrow probably.”

Sirius found himself unable to speak, like he hadn’t prepared for this moment for six months now, ever since James and Harry had moved in. But his tongue was tied and his lips were dry and he was lost for words. The time kept ticking away.

“Why-” he stuttered out before his eyes fell on his own jacket draped across James’ lap. He felt a rush of fear wash over him, moving quickly to snatch the piece of clothing from the younger man. “You didn’t, you couldn’t-”

“I did,” James spat out as he stood up, fury burning in his golden eyes. 

“But-”

“There is nothing left to say, Sirius,” James took a deep breath and allowed himself to shut his eyes to collect himself. He then returned his gaze to his old friend. “There was a time when I would’ve done everything in my power to help you, but that is not now. I’m struggling too, I’m raising a child on my own without my _wife_. I can’t live in an environment like this with a toddler, I really can’t. And for the first time since Lily’s death I’m putting myself first, and I need to get out, get away, to some place far away from here. I can’t help you. I can’t…”

And James Potter cried easily, everybody knew this, but this time he did not cry. This time he bid the love of his life farewell, collecting the things he needed most, and decided to go to Remus and Harry, a decision that strangely enough wasn’t hard to make.

“I’m sorry,” James said, standing by the front door and speaking directly to Sirius who was leaning against the doorframe and could only nod because they were repeating things that happened six months ago, only it was reversed this time. “I’m so sorry, Sirius.”

But Sirius understood, like he always did. And he nodded again and plucked at some loose paint on the wall and avoided James’ eyes with everything he had.

“I’m sorry, too,” Sirius had told James. He wasn’t sure if he actually was. 

“I, well… I guess I’ll just-”

“James,” the older man said as he finally met James’ eyes for the last time. “Just tell me goodbye.”

“Goodbye, Sirius.”

“Goodbye, James.”

And as the shorter of the pair began to shut the door, he gave his old best mate a ghost of a smile, and as he got one in return he knew that this wasn’t the end of them, not really.


	2. Epilogue

It was April, and James had just recently turned twenty-five. Harry’s fifth birthday was getting closer for each day, and James’ little boy was more excited than ever. He was on his way home from Moony, having visited him for the first time in a very long time and dropped off Harry for the rest of the weekend. They had moved back to wizarding London after three years away, and James hadn’t felt this content in ages. Not since he had lost Lily, at least.

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and James let his thoughts wander freely as he strolled through the unusually empty park. It felt odd not having to keep a watchful eye on Harry, always running around, free as ever.

He stopped by the lake, staring at his blurry reflection in the water. It had taken him some time, but he no longer felt lonely seeing himself like this. He no longer felt vulnerable. James looked up from the surface of the water and let his eyes wander as well. They landed on a figure dressed in black, sitting cross legged underneath the old willow, face hidden behind long and silky hair.

James’ breath hitched at the back of his throat, because no matter how much time passed he would always knew who that figure was, even in a pitch black room. His legs moved before his brain could register it, and soon he was standing by the willow, his shadow falling over the person sitting underneath it on a leather jacket James recognized _anywhere_. After all, the jacket was more famous than the owner, somehow. 

“This is definitely not a sight I ever thought I would witness; Sirius Black, _reading_ ,” James said at last, his tone teasing.

The person looked up, and underneath all the dark hair James saw two silver orbs staring at him in wonder. Sirius grinned at him, and he couldn’t help but return it. As the older man put his book away, James took a seat beside him. 

“How have you been, Prongs?” Sirius asked and he sounded genuine, like he wished to know.

James shrugged. He actually didn’t know how he had been. It was all mostly just a mess to him. “I’ve been… better,” he said after a thoughtful moment. Sirius nodded and James could see out of the corner of his eye how he plucked at the grass and let it fall from his fingers like water. “Monny told me you’re clean now.”

Sirius nodded again, but this time he turned to look at James and the taller man noticed how the pain that used to be so clear in his eyes had disappeared along with the overly dilated pupils. “Yeah. Almost a year.”

James smiled at him like he used to, and he felt proud because although it had taken Sirius a couple of years, he had still done it. He took his time to really look at his best friend and noticed how the colour had returned to his face and the dark circles were gone. He was clean shaven, looking almost like he was seventeen again. He had also put on some of the weight he had lost. He was more alive than he had been in a very, very long time.

The afternoon eventually turned into evening and the sun was slowly setting behind some rooftops. It was getting more chilly outside and without hesitation James had given his own jacket to Sirius even though the older man had his own with him. Nothing warmed him like James’ jacket, anyway.

“Pads, Sometimes… I wish I could go back to when we were young and make all the wrong things right when I had the chance,” James blurted out after a long period of comfortable silence.

Sirius looked up at him again, and clear as the sky he could see the guilt swimming in James’ hazel eyes. He sighed gently and brushed his fingers against the back of James’ hand until he turned it over to let Sirius lace their fingers together, the gesture familiar.

“Like when I knew you were sad, but I never said or did anything about it because I was afraid you were sad at me." 

“Jamie,” Sirius said softly after a short pause, and he lifted his other hand to cup James’ face, letting the pad of his thumb stroke a defined cheekbone. He turned his face so James would look at him as he spoke. “I was never sad at you, nor because of you. I was just sad. Some people are sad because they just are, and although my sadness was deeply affected by a lot of different things, I was just a sad person. I’m still sad, but not as much anymore, and no matter how hard you wish you could’ve helped, you couldn’t. You just couldn’t. Sometimes you just gotta let people be sad in peace.

“And if we’re really gonna talk about regrets back when we were teens, I gotta let you know that I seriously regret not telling you that I loved you the first time I realized I did, and never letting you know throughout the rest of the years we spent together.”

James finally looked up and gave Sirius the softest of smiles as he moved to wrap his arms around the other man’s waist. They squeezed closer together, Sirius burying his face in the warmth of James’ neck. “I love you, James Potter. I’ve been in love with you since we were thirteen and you gave me that record with The Velvet Underground and Nico. I love you." 

And James just chuckled as he hid his own face in Sirius’ dark locks, inhaling the scent of lavender like the candles on the coffee table. He still wonders what Sirius kept in the sea shell chest.

“Really, Padfoot,” he spoke quietly into the upcoming night. “Sirius Black, I’m so in love with you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been so long since i actually posted something and i feel like this was super fucking rushed but it's almost seven am and i really wanna go to sleep so i couldn't care less aight have a nice day tho <3<3<3<3<3

**Author's Note:**

> I AM COMPLETELY UNABLE TO WRITE ANYTHING AT ALL THAT DOESNT INVOLVE AGNST AND I HAVE NO IDEA WHAT THE HECK HAPPENED AND I RUINED SIRIUS IM ANGRY


End file.
